by Sally Odgers
"But ... you can't! That's impossible!"
"You doubt our power?” Nails dug painfully into my palm, hastening the tears already sprouting. “Here."
Before I could protest, my hand crossed the barrier. I screamed, skin peeling and sinew withering in flesh-rending agony. Jerking more forcefully this time, I clutched the hand to my breast.
My voice was a choked sob. “You can't do this."
"Do what?” she said. “Your hand is restored."
Astonished, I looked and saw that she spoke truth. The cut still throbbed like hellfire, but the rest no longer looked drawn from a crypt.
"Simply stay within the barrier,” she said, tracing an invisible trajectory with a sweep of her arm, “and you've naught to fear."
Sudden exhaustion overwhelmed me. “You can't keep me prisoner."
She shrugged. “And we can't have you running off to the castle. But ‘tis not all bad. When I wed, you'll have full run of the Manor.” She turned. “Come, Melisande. We've dallied long."
The other smiled. “Indeed! There's little time to impress the Prince before the coachman!"
"Not true,” Allura sniffed. “I could slather myself with lizard entrails and be assured of his devotion, once I incant the final words after he sees me. Still, appearances must be attempted for the royal court. For now."
She twisted back to me, face falling into a veil of quickening night. “Don't bother sending Mother in your stead. She's rather, well, sleeping. And best you don't discourse on this, either. Most will think you mad. Those who don't, will meet a worse fate. We wouldn't want such tragedy on your conscience.” She flashed a sweet smile. “Good night."
Falling to the ground, my body shook with sobs until well after the clopping of hooves brought the carriage, then whisked it away again.
* * * *
The sky was liquid night when next I lifted my head. I rose stiffly, brushing my skirts while my swollen eyes adjusted to the high rise of a silvered gibbous moon. My head pounded with despair as I looked upon the Manor. It, too was shrouded in darkness, no lanterns or candles to aid needlework or other evening tasks.
Don't bother with Mother. She's rather, well ... sleeping.
More magic. My stepsisters seemed to possess an endless supply, along with selfishness cruelty. I instinctively flexed the hand that had briefly preceded me into the grave.
Despite the hour I could not bear to go inside, closing the walls of my mystical prison that much further. Instead I walked the barrier periphery, terrified to venture too near, yet driven to see every inch of the line dividing me from life. Part of the grounds traversed the woods, though no clear marker defined our land. How had the sisters divvied that portion of freedom? I wondered. The moon journeyed with me ‘til forced to take leave at the trees’ insistence, and I pressed on alone to where the trail vanished into a thicket of elm. I regretted my haste in setting out without lamp nor candle; even more so when my presence of mind returned.
The woods had gone unnaturally still, as if crickets sensed danger and the wind itself had fled. The air was chill, and the hardening of nipples and quiver in my midsection had fair little to do with temperature.
Something was here.
My chest rose and fell in heavy gasps. Why had I come? Today seemed made for me to indulge the foolhardy.
A section of darkness blacker than the rest broke off and moved toward me, prompting a startled shriek escaped before I noticed the shape of a man. When I say it moved, I do not mean that he walked. The man-shape came forward, and in the span of a heartbeat was within an arm's reach. His robes were blacker than night; his hair, paler than light. A smile came easily and described a handsome face, but with something unseemly hidden beneath.
I did not return his smile as he broke silence. “'Twas a fair eve; now fairer still.” His bow was small in measure, but grand in gesture. “'Tis a brave young maiden who wanders the woods at night."?
My tongue loosed. “They are mine to do so. ‘Tis private land you wander."
"Ah. The magic I sensed ‘tis a barrier against wanderers, then. Such has no power over me, I'm afraid."
"'Twas not for you the barrier was set, but for me."
I clapped a hand to my mouth, wishing fervently my tongue had not loosed so far.
"Truly?” Brows raised in interest. His smile widened as he took measure with a warming gaze. “You don't seem especially dangerous. ‘Twas not you, then, who drew this spell?"
I shook my head, determined to reveal no more. “No. My sisters."
My brow furrowed, deeper still when he laughed at my confusion. “You're not mad. You simply cannot lie in my presence."
"Have you magic then, too?"
His shrug was a false modesty. “I know of the craft. But ‘tis no spell wagging your tongue."
"What, then?"
He stepped close, his eyes a changing rhythm of color. “What's your name?"
"Lusinda Ella Fairbairn. But I am called Sinda."
"Are you?” After a lengthy stare he added, “I am Mikkhail."
"What brings you to my woods, Mikkhail?"
"Travel. I was weary, and have not fed for a pitying stretch. Still, I diverted to see who conjured such dark magic."
"And my other question?"
He rubbed a slender finger across his lips. “Tell me why your sisters think you so devilish, and I'll answer."
I realized I had no choice; my mouth would tell the tale either way. And so it did: I spoke of the royal ball, my sisters’ erotic communion, my planned treachery, and their eternal punishment. Afterward, he stood deep in thought.
"Quite a tale,” he said at last. “You are truly trapped here forever?"
A lump formed in my stomach. “As long as I live."
"Not the same as forever."
"'Tis in all the ways that matter."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not."
Mikkhail pulled a vial from his pocket, drinking a few drops. Then he murmured undecipherable words.
"You asked of my power. I will tell you.” He was within inches, tall enough to raise my head to his gaze. “I will help you."
"Help? How?"
He pressed an icy finger to my lips.
"I am not ... of this world. No longer mortal. This is my power,” he bent as if to press his lips to my neck. “The power to set you free."
I swayed, eyes fluttering at the sensual breeze stirring. I wanted his kiss, and more. I meant to give him everything. The damp, leafy underbed would be where I divorced my maidenhood.
Then, something in his words struck. I pushed away. “How will I win my freedom, exactly?"
The smile returned. “By making you like me.” The smile widened and I saw them—two pointed teeth, one on either side. I gasped.
"You cannot run,” he read obvious thoughts, “but your fate needn't be eternal."
Shivering, I hugged myself and tried to inch backward. “What do you mean?"
"I offer you what has never been,” he said. “As I said, I know of the craft. I was a witch.” He held up the vial. “An enchanted bite. I will end your mortal life, for one night. Cross the barrier, and relieve your sisters of their Prince. Come morning, all will return."
I could barely take the words in. “I would be human again?"
He nodded.
That this sounded too good spoke well of my state of being on this day.
"And what of you?” I ventured. “Your sort aren't known for kindness. What is your gain?"
His laugh pierced my core. “I should think that obvious.” He leaned close, eyes rolling back as he inhaled. “The blood of a maiden."
I quivered with inevitability. “I have your word, then?"
"You do."
I tried not to ponder what stock lay in the word of a vampire as I brazenly pulled long strands of gold away from my neck. “Then I bid you ... release me."
The attack came quickly—no warning, no deliberate approach. He was simply on me, with the growl of a panther and a bite of sw
eet, tearing agony. A flash of heat burned into bitter cold. As he cradled my body like a hellish lover, my head drooped and limbs fell weak. Darkness dimmed, and fatigue grew to exhausted despair.
Then, nothing.
* * * *
"Sinda."
My eyes fluttered, arms and legs feeling strangely detached. Mikkhail stood over me.
"Am I...?"
He nodded, extending a hand that no longer felt cold as I rose to a thousand scents. One enchanted above them all. I breathed deeply.
"Blood,” he said. “Yours."
I glanced down, frock wet with smears of Mikkhail's feed. He reached out, but I passed, drawn to dark energies just ahead. ‘Twas still black under the canopy, but my eyes had adjusted. Or changed.
I felt the magic, its power twisted and rife with all manner of unknowable creatures. This was what Mikkhail had felt. What drew him here.
Reaching the barrier's edge, I plunged my hand through ... and smiled.
"Going so soon?” Mikkhail grabbed my arm.
I pulled away. “I have royal business to attend."
He was at my heels. “Such haste ... even at the risk of your life."
I stopped. “I'm not ‘alive,’ am I?"
"If you wish to be so again, you'd be wise to hear me."
I wanted my business done, but held silent.
"The enchantment breaks with sunrise,” he said. “You must be indoors—and within the barrier—before then."
I shrugged. “If not?"
"I'm not certain."
My brows lifted. “Meaning, perhaps nothing?"
"Meaning, either the bite won't fade in time to save you death by sunlight, or it will—with you outside the barrier."
Consequence sank my stomach, but not as much as if I were still mortal. “Then I shall return before sunlight."
I stalked away, leaves crunching underfoot.
"Think the palace will bid you welcome,” he called, “when you arrive torn and bloodied?"
The truth of it burned my cheeks. “Fine."
With nimble fingers I made to pull the laces of my bodice, but grew angry. With a growl I rent the garment, shrugging it to the woodland floor. His eyes took all of me at once. New senses smelled his desire, and saw the bulge of his sex pulsing for me.
He reached for me, the reddish bud of my nipple hardening to a fever with his touch. Mikkhail pressed closer, eyes aflame. “There is time,” he growled. “I feel your maidenhood's lust for an end. I would have it from you."
I held his hands on me, kneading my breasts. I leaned forward. “But I would not have you."
Then I pushed away, leaving him as aching and unfulfilled as my mortal life as I walked back to the Manor. I never saw him again.
* * * *
The castle was a splendor from afar, and a monstrosity from the gates. The guard was reinforced in epic strength, to protect the Royal Mirrorgazer from foul doing. Little did they know the foulest doing had received an engraved invitation.
My first thought was to kill as many guards as necessary to gain entrance. My second was to lie in wait for an approaching carriage, killing the one it bore for their invitation.
Only then did it occur that slaughtering a host of innocents to protect a man I cared not for was quite possibly my vampiric side's bidding. With that a thought curled around my fangs, and I flicked my tongue against one to taste blood. My stepsisters had more to atone for than lust for royal cock, after all. Still, their deaths in the midst of the palace would hardly find me favor. Later, perhaps.
An approaching carriage caught my ear, and I smelled the lone male within. Stealing behind, I threw open the door as it sped along and climbed into the carriage beside him. A pasty gaze widened in shock, then lust.
"Do you desire what you see?"
I knew that he did before his nod. Had I not worn Allura's gold brocade gown without a stitch beneath, my fair features now melded with Mikkhail's preternatural sexuality.
"Then bid me escort."
Our coachman held fair shock at his new passenger, but helped me from the carriage. My escort's bullfrog eyes fastened to bare, rounded flesh between the laces of my gown as we were ushered into the ball. About the time he'd decided to sample my favors I vanished, hugging the rear of a huge colonnade to evade the guards’ notice.
As I slid along a wall of gilt finish, I willed myself invisible and scanned the ballroom for my sisters or the Prince. Neither were in sight, though I caught Allura's scent. I hoped they weren't off somewhere, consummating her sordid plan.
A step-waltz began, spinning dancers in and out of my gaze as I moved out into the Grand Hall. So intent was I on seeking my prey that I failed to pay heed to where I was going.
"Precious few ladies would be so eager to flee the trappings of an eve such as this."
I held a tenuous grip on the oath I wished to decant. I would have expected Prince Verrill to be drowning under guard, but saw none. He was alone, a body's length from mine the hall.
"Thought ‘twas only I in such dire need of escape from my father's latest cause for celebration."
Chill blood warmed. Truly, the royal portrait painter deserved execution for the gross miscarriage of justice in every likeness I'd seen. This god wrought my understanding of his plight; had I been born to his visage I, too, would desire only to pleasure myself in view of the looking glass. Tall and sculpted, his hair was sleek, yet wild as the finest black steed. Eyes were the unfathomable jade of a churning sea. Indeed, the latter fixed me with a stare stirring new hungers, tossing what remained of human emotions like waves after a storm.
This storm was just beginning.
Shock subsided enough to allow dictates and my voice. Lifting heavy skirts, I dropped in a low curtsy. “I fear I'm naught for finery or the ballroom, sire."
His nod bid me rise; his smile bid my desire aflame. “Yet finery clings to you quite naturally,” he said, gaze sweeping without fanfare to my breasts. “Though you seem to have forgotten some of it."
He neared, gold tassels swaying from epaulets which capped shoulders a palm's width greater than my own. “Perhaps you were remiss in your excitement? Or did you wish to get a horse's gallop ahead of other maidens, by seeking me without your undergarments?"
My lip snarled. I recalled my true purpose here, and my true feelings. “I was neither, Highness. Merely in need of haste."
And no longer disposed to modesty, but no doubt he would count this a personal testament.
"I've offended you."
I raised my chin. “Not at all, sire. I came with all haste to see you, true. But for reasons you do not suspect."
My chest gave an odd flip as he took my hand, my stilled heart trying to remember how to beat. “I can't say I'm not glad of it, whatever your reasons.” He frowned. “You're frozen. Here.” The Prince tugged a silk cord at his throat, releasing a gold capelet thrown across one shoulder. With the smooth flourish of a conquistador, he draped me in fabric.
I had no need of it, but smiled. “You're too kind, Your Majesty."
"Verrill."
"Lucinda Ella Fairbairn. Sinda."
'Twas his turn to bow. “Come, Sinda. I would not have you catch your death."
Truly. My smile followed his to a small chamber; small being relative to the palace. The parlor spanned the Manor's length, boasting more chaises than a carpenter's craft for a year.
Leading me by the hand, Prince Verrill brought me to a crackling fire. He took both hands in his, but ‘twas his gaze warming me as gentle strains of a minuet stole through the open door.
"May I?"
Without pause for the rejection he'd undoubtedly never heard, he pulled me to him. Dance ‘tis a genteel art, one my father tried to bestow. Alas, I proved early on I lacked a feather light step. Yet my liege was in command of his talent. Giving me honors, he plié-stepped like a master. I moved with the grace of a wooden ox-cart. To his credit, the Prince showed no sign of it.
Circling, we twirled in to face eac
h other at a close breadth, but instead of opening back out he halted, possessing my waist with his arm.
"Sinda."
The name quivered low, as though my womb had awakened to possibility. Then his lips took mine with the tender stroke of an artist upon canvas. I could smell his passion, igniting a supernatural knowledge of all things and their need.
'Twas my tongue that emboldened itself first, weighing what sacraments his could unleash on my breasts and cleft. His groan prickled my skin, nerve endings erupting while fingers probed the laces of my bodice. When they failed to yield, Verrill grew as impatient as I had in the woods and pushed inside the gaps between them, finding nipples already hard and straining.
I might have feared his fever burned thusly for all maidens, or ‘twas but a false refrain to the siren song of the demon huntress inside me. But my gaze had dimmed to everything but him, pushing me back against a handsomely carved armoire with a slight rattle of priceless contents inside. The laces finally loosed, and I rejoiced in the feel of his mouth, whimpering as I felt skirts raise to my damp nakedness beneath. I burned to touch him where I'd never touched another, and the huntress responded. The maiden, however, was shocked to find in his breeches a fitting match for the cala goeg; extended and swollen, he pushed it into my hand with a guttural moan.
That's when it happened: my mind twisted to a darker fate than bedevilment against a castle wall. I wanted him, yes. I wanted that shaft driven inside me like a wild stallion; to claw at him as we reached the peak where others climaxed, only to pass them by to heights of our own. I wanted his sex, yes. But ‘twas not all.
I wanted his soul.
I could smell it even now; the blood pumping in his veins, surging through stiffened desire. It bade me, come. Take.
Feed.
He pushed my hand away as he made to join us and I felt a moment of panic, fearing my blood lust would gain Verrill nothing over Allura's plan of sexual servitude.
Then a biting graze to my nipple drove me from fear. The Prince's teeth nipped and tongue devoured his neck deliciously close.
"I'm sorry,” he breathed, “I'm not usually so ... driven."
"You do not harm me,” I whispered against that neck. “'Tis only need of you that I feel."